


we are learning to make fire

by 100demons



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, The Immortals - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:38:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2144193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/pseuds/100demons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I chose you,” she smiled, enjoying the way he shivered under her touch. “And that should be enough.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are learning to make fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).



Marriage is not  
a house or even a tent  
it is before that, and colder:  
The edge of the forest, the edge  
of the desert  
the unpainted stairs  
at the back where we squat  
outside, eating popcorn  
where painfully and with wonder  
at having survived even  
this far  
we are learning to make fire

 _Habitation_  
Margaret Atwood

 

* * *

 

 

The sheets on his side of the bed were cold and wrinkled. Daine slid a hand across the broad expanse of the bed, breathing in the faint scent of sandalwood and old paper.

Kitten trilled softly as Daine slung her legs over the edge, squeezing her swollen feet into a pair of slippers. She heaved herself up unsteadily and grabbed a dressing gown draped over the back of a chair, stuffing her arms through the sleeves.

The dragonet chirped again, this time inclining her head towards the door.

“Thank you, sweetling,” Daine said, stooping slightly to pat the curve of her snout. “Go back to sleep, we’ll be back soon enough.”

Daine braced her back with one hand as she waddled across the room, through the open doorway and down the corridor. Weak golden light outlined the stark wood of the study door at the far end.

“Men!” she muttered crossly and pressed a fist against the doorjamb, peering through the faint crack.

The dying embers of the fire gave the room an eerie red glow, highlighting the deep shadows cast by the towering bookshelves and strange magical artefacts. Wedged in the corner was a leather winged armchair, seat piled high with papers and broken quills. The accompanying footstool was occupied by a scale model of a Tusaine castle, replete with miniature footsoldiers in period-accurate armor.

Her husband sat on the floor with his back against the legs of the chair, bony knees drawn up to his broad chest.

“Numair?”

His head whipped up so quickly it gave Daine a crick in her neck just from watching. His bloodshot eyes were framed by a wild tangle of curls, dark purple shadows ringing his long lashes.

“Oh,” he said.

Daine pushed the door open as far it would go and squeezed herself through the gap, shaking her robe loose when it caught on the bony talon of a reptilian fossil. She accidentally trod on a pile of papers, wincing a little as her slippers left marks on what looked like student essays. If anything, it might even the improve the quality of the content, judging by the angry red marks slashing through blotchy ink.

With a little effort, she finally managed to seat herself onto the chair, unceremoniously dumping the pile occupying the seat onto the floor. Numair’s dark head leaned against her knee as he shifted over a bit on the floor to give her room.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, voice so low it was almost nonexistent.

“Nonsense,” she said, fingers carding through his hair absently. “I woke up because the dratted baby keeps pressing on my bladder. I’m like a leaky wine sac, only rounder.”

She could feel his smile through the silk of her robe, the sharp blade of his nose pressed against the curve of her thigh. “A very beautiful one.”

“That’s a given,” Daine said, twining a curl around her finger and admiring the sleek shine it took on from the firelight.

Numair fell quiet, and only the soft flutters of his lashes against her skin told her he was still awake. There was only the sound of wood crackling and the wind whispering to the naked branches outside for a long while, and the comfortable warmth of a solid body against hers, with all of its familiar bony edges.

“Magelet? Are you still with me?”

“Always,” Daine said sleepily.

“Ah.”

There was suddenly something hot and wet against her leg and Daine straightened up a little, squinting in the near darkness. She could barely make out the broad expanse of Numair’s shoulders and she reached out, placing a gentle hand by the curve of his neck.

He was shaking.

“Oh, love.”

Her hand followed the line of his throat and cupped the edge of his jaw pressed against her leg.

“If you would,” she said softly.

Numair raised his trembling head, cheeks wet with streaks of tears. Even more dripped steadily down the end of his long nose.

“What is it, darling?” Daine smoothed his curls down with a hand, the other gently wiping away the tears.

“I’m terrified,” Numair whispered and then looked away sharply, teeth digging into the tender flesh of his lower lip until it turned bone-white.

“Of what?”

“Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night feeling like I can’t breathe. Like all my fears and all of my nightmares suddenly press down on my chest and even the entirety of the air in the world isn’t enough to fill my lungs. And I look to my side and I see _you--_ ” He drew in a harsh, ragged breath.

“You give me so much,” Numair said, his hand reaching up to capture hers and clasping it tight. “All the happiness I have ever known, a future, a family. And it frightens me, because I’m not enough, I’ll never be enough and you could disappear, could _die_ in this gods damned war with the Scanrans and--”

“Look at me,” Daine said quietly.

He shuddered, back bent and face turned in shadow.

“Numair,” she said again, voice sharp.

He looked up, eyes glittering with unspent tears, lips pressed into a thin hard line.

“It’s alright to feel scared-- _I’m_ scared out of my wits half the time. I don’t know how to be a mother, I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, let alone how we’ll raise our baby in the coming years.” She pressed a finger against his mouth as he started to speak.

“But please, don’t ever feel as if you aren’t somehow good enough for me. That’s not right at all.”

Daine leaned over as much as her swollen middle would allow her and pressed a kiss on his brow. “I chose you,” she smiled, enjoying the way he shivered under her touch. “And that should be enough.”

“Oh, Daine,” he sighed. “ _Daine_.” Something softened in the tense line of his shoulders as he pressed closer. He tugged on the sheer fabric of her robe and she followed, sliding down awkwardly from the chair and into the safety of his embrace.

Daine giggled as their legs tangled up with each other, his cold feet bumping against her slippers. After a bit of adjusting, she finally managed to lean back comfortably into his chest, cradled in the warmth of his arms.

“Where would I be without you, dearheart?”

“Probably buried under a pile of prehistoric scrolls, suffocating to death,” Daine said, tart.

She felt more than heard the deep rumble of his laugh, reverberating throughout her body.

“Probably,” he agreed huskily, fingers tracing idle magical sigils on the broad expanse of her stomach.

“Numair?”

“Hmm?”

“We can be scared together,” she said, very quiet. “And happy and excited and even sad. I want to do and feel all of these things together with you. But please...” She turned her head up and towards him, nose grazing the sharple angle of his jaw.

“Please don’t go where I can’t follow.”

Numair’s breath stuttered to a stop for a long moment.

“Oh magelet,” he said finally, burying his face in her wild mane of hair. “I promise.”


End file.
